Barricade
by Hartman
Summary: When the dead start to prey on the living, our protagonist has no other option but to build a barricade. Through memoirs we follow this person's struggle against the ghouls...both outside the house and within. R&R please, rating might change.


**Barricade**

_Chapter 1: I remember..._

I have no idea why or when it started exactly. It was a regular, warm summer morning and the events which followed caught everyone by surprise. If I can remember right, it was on June 21st. I was preparing myself for work, enjoying roast bread with some bacon and butter when TV went mute. That's not weird at all, considering how antique my TV was but soon after Emergency Broadcasting Network was activated. My jaws stopped chewing the greasy delight in my mouth and I feared the worst. Was it the terrorists? Was this local? I mean, why on earth would it turn on in a small county such as mine? These were few of the questions I remember thinking about back then. I'm glad for my survival instinct, which told me to stay home and remain watching my crappy old TV. Survival instinct, call it curiosity or cowardness but I still decided that I wouldn't get out of my house that morning. I would call my boss the next day and declare that I was sick and couldn't go to work. This felt rational back then.

I remember watching outside through my dirty kitchen window. It was calm outside; the only movement I witnessed was the leaves being moved by tender wind. My neighbours on the other side of the road were home, at least Jeffersons and theWeldon family were. Jefferson family's blue Honda CRV was still parked in front of their house and Weldons' were home, their house was all lighted up. No matter what time of the day it was, they would have lights on most of their windows. I remember seeing faint movement of curtain on the second window on the right on the second floor. Sound of emergency vehicles was heard, at least few ambulances and maybe a firetruck. I wouldn't say I was afraid, confused would be much more fitting word. What's so special about this day?

Hours went by. It must of have been over noon already, yet there was no signs of life outside. I felt shivers going through my back. By any means, this wasn't normal. My street would be packed with playing children, mothers taking sun on the grass watching over their children and sounds. Sounds like cars going by every once in a while, children screaming and mothers talking to each other. The everyday hustle of the suburbs. The only sound I heard was the loud beep which was being broadcasted by the network. Never in my life had I felt so alone. No one called me, not even my boss wondering why I wasn't working. Looking back, I hate myself for not calling anyone. I should of have had called 911, my brother or my mother. I'm pretty sure that they would of had been alive back then. All I did was watch that cursed TV and those cursed white letters which told me to stand-by. It was then when the loud beeping voice which was emitted through the speakers of my TV turned into a mild-mannered, yet somehow calming voice. It was a male anchor in his early fifties, his grey suit merged well with the dark background of the broadcast. It's funny really, I cant remember his name or what he said. Exact sentences are now white noise in my brain, but few of the words he said were "Remain where you are" and "Do not make contact with them". What them? I hadn't seen any of "them" outside my house. As a matter of fact, I hadn't seen anyone. They were now moving to a field report in some small city from which I had never heard off. Before that they showed footage of what was going on all-around the country.

However, the images which were shown on the TV are photographed in my head for the rest of my life. They showed various clips from Detroit, New York and Chicago which were in horrible state. They showed rioting, burning buildings, pure chaos. Bodies on the ground riddled with bullet holes or just horribly mangled. Civilians crying, bloodied and torn apart. Literally. The bald chubby Police officer in the TV was standing next to an armoured vehicle, wielding a revolver and he was being interviewed by the greasy looking TV-interviewer. Various sounds were heard from the background. Screams, shooting, vehicles Shooting? What the hell? Who were they shooting at?

I got the answer for my question. The cop shouted a word of warning and fired. The camera man quickly turned around and kept filming on the ground. On the ground laid a young woman wearing a red jumpsuit. She was all grey and was missing parts of her body; it was like she had been eaten. All of a sudden I felt something come up my throat and I rushed to the sink. I threw up. After gagging for few minutes and washing my face I returned to the TV. I sneaked. I didn't realize it but I was moving slowly, I was doing it subconsciously. I sat on the floor and remained there, glued to the TV. Police officer told the interviewer that these people aren't who we think they are anymore. They were dead and they tried to eat other people. How does one live while being dead?

I remember how naive I was. It makes me angry and ashamed how childish I was. In the 21st century people don't go out and eat each other. I should of have had put pieces together and realize that it was an epidemic, a disease which spread rapidly from an infected to another. I should of have started barricading immediately back then, before I made the first contact. I should of...

I have a blackout for the next few hours. Maybe I just sat down doing nothing but I was eventually brought to the real world with a bang. A literal bang, I heard a gunshot outside. I peeked out of the window and realized that the silent suburb had become alive. Apparently someone from the Jeffersons tried driving away but collided with a speeding ambulance which came from behind the Honda. The ambulance laid on its leftside, its backdoors crushed open. Black smoke rose from the ambulance, a green suited corpse of a medic was lying just outside the car. I believe he was dead. I hope he was dead. As for the Honda┘ I noticed the father of the Jefferson family, Maxwell sitting on the driver's seat with his face crushed inside and most of his brains on the windshield. He wasn't wearing a seatbelt when the collision happened, his head smacking against the wheel. He had two children, both of them stared at their dad from their second floor window. I was mesmerized. More cars drove by, some of them looking in bad shape, while some of them were in ok shape. Also, I noticed a female officer and her partner standing next to their patrol vehicle. They were shouting, probably urging people to stay in-doors. Few corpses were in front of them. Few of the ghouls, the catastrophe had came to our suburb. Soon, I noticed two more patrol cars showing up. Few of the houses on the far right were now being abandoned, at least two families ran for the cops. This was it; I had to get in one of those patrol cars. I could be saved. I remember quickly standing up and heading to the front-door. Just as I took a grip of the doorknob, I realized I should go get my cell phone upstairs. I went up my circular stairs as fast as I could and ignored the electronic buzz. Always hated it. Next to my bed, on my nightstand was my cell phone. 4 calls, all of them from my mom. I cursed out loud. I hated myself even more. It had to wait, I had to get outside and the cops would take me to safety.

Just as I prepared to open the door, I peeked out of the small window on my front door. My mouth opened and I almost cried. The patrol cars they were overrun. I noticed how they fell; the families which came outside were quickly devoured. Fathers, mothers were tackled by shrieking and drooling figures and.eaten. Never in my life had I thought I'd see a little girl getting her throat ripped open by a walking corpse. The cops tried shooting, but they quickly succumbed too. Civilians who weren't dead yet ran around in panic. It looked like a twisted game of tag. Few of them rushed inside the Jefferson house, which had it's front door open. I didn't see the children in the window anymore. I remember... as a matter of fact, I can't. I lost consciousness and passed out.

When I woke up... I'll continue this memoir later on. My swan song, if you may. Besides... if the angel comes again... I must be ready. Now, I'm going to need some rest, the angel... He's coming, I can feel it!

_A/N; For some odd reason, I got all of these weird squares and other various marks all over the text. Sorry for the inconvenience, it wont happen in the future. I'd also like to point out that I'm keeping the protagonist a tad "mysterious" for a reason. R&R please._


End file.
